


Run Away with Me

by SimplyShelbs16



Series: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020 [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eloping, F/M, Fluff, Married Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Post-Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Romance, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Tasteful Lovemaking (nothing explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16
Summary: Post-TEH. S3 AU where Molly was never engaged and Sherlock actually snogged her properly in the stairwell. Greg decides to throw a welcome back party for our favorite detective, but when Sherlock discovers Molly is there, they eventually run off together. Oh, what have they gotten themselves into now?WON 2ND PLACE FOR BEST MULTI-CHAPTER AND BEST ROMANCE FOR 2019/2020 SAMFAS.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659220
Comments: 84
Kudos: 107
Collections: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2020





	1. There's Nothing Like Me and You

Mycroft Holmes was relieved that the messy business of bringing Sherlock ‘back from the dead’ was over. Now, if only Doctor Watson would consider remaining as his brother’s assistant full time. He had helped with the potential terror strike, but was hesitant for things to be as they once were. Then again, the man was to be married next spring. Reportedly, Molly Hooper had been assisting him in John’s place. Mycroft approved. She had a sharp mind and was the only one who could see right through his brother’s nonsense. Yes, overall, today was going splendidly.

“Sir?” Anthea poked her head through the open doorway of Mycroft’s office. “It’s your brother.”

Mycroft scrunched his face. “Well, send him in, then.”

She bit her lip, hesitant to report her news. “That’s the thing, sir. Your brother has run off…with Molly Hooper.”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. Was it too much to ask for a stress-free evening?

* * *

**Three Hours Ago**

It had all happened rather quickly. Lestrade had thought it appropriate to throw a small celebratory party at the pub, toasting to Sherlock’s return. The detective had been loath to go, as it wasn’t his scene, but John and Mary convinced him otherwise. “Only for a couple hours,” he had told them. Of course, that all changed when he spotted Molly Hooper across the room, her hair flowing over her shoulders in loose waves. She wore a pair of fitted jeans and a lovely knit jumper in the shade of dusty rose, contrasting well with her dark locks.

Her warm brown eyes met his across the room, a shy smile blooming upon her lips. They hadn’t talked about what happened that first day she went out solving crimes with him. It was a thing that felt natural to do, given the circumstances, and all they did was tip-toe around it. He could still remember the softness of her supple lips pressing against his, their tongues caressing in a delicate dance. Not even his mind palace could properly replicate such an intimate moment.

“Molly,” he greeted her in hopes of sounding nonchalant. “I hadn’t a clue you’d be here. I thought you would be working tonight.”

She smiled brightly, finishing off the last bit of her drink. “I’ve decided to go on holiday.”

“I’m impressed,” he remarked. “You’ve not taken time off since—“ Sherlock trailed off, remembering the disastrous Christmas party she had taken off work for.

Molly appeared to have realised where his mind had wandered off to, placing her hand upon his shoulder. “It’s alright, Sherlock. Don’t dwell on the past.”

Pulling himself together, the detective decided to make a move, albeit a small one. “Would you like another drink? My treat.” The flirty look in her eyes was all the response he needed.

Two hours and one…two…three drinks later, the pair of them were lost in their own little world, ignoring everyone around them. Mary kept eyeing them from across the table they were all sitting around. She watched as Sherlock whispered something in Molly’s ear, making her face flush red. The pathologist promptly stood up and wound her way through the crowd towards the loo. Just five minutes later, Sherlock excused himself to smoke, but Mary wasn’t fooled so easily. She smiled to herself, glad that those two were having their fun. It did become alarming when two hours had passed and neither of them had returned.

* * *

**Presently**

Their feet hit the plushness of the mattress and duvet beneath them. Sherlock still had on his suit (black trousers and white button up), but Molly had switched out her jeans and jumper for a simple strapless gown of white. Rings of white gold shone brightly on their fingers. Yes, they had gone and eloped, and yes, they were quite tipsy, but even Sherlock had to admit there was no better high. They were happy, jumping up and down on the bed like children, neither of them quite believing what had transpired tonight.

Molly eventually allowed herself to fall back on the bed, and Sherlock followed suit, though careful not to crush her. He moved over her, his lean body pressing her into the mattress. Lips meeting, his hands caressing her curves, hers buried in his curls. Sherlock wasn’t one for religion, but he was sure this was his heaven. “I love you,” Molly gasped as his nimble fingers managed to locate and unzip the back of her dress. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“Molly,” he murmured, his face buried against her neck. “My Molly.”

Hands pulled at clothes, one piece being tossed off at a time. They took their time exploring one another, finding every crevice of pleasure. His lips, his fingers, and _oh_ , his tongue…Sherlock Holmes knew exactly how to use them. They lost themselves in a fit of unbridled passion that had been steadily building from the moment they met. As she moved with him, Molly silently prayed for it to last forever. He played her beautifully, like a violin, each thrust bringing her closer to a crescendo. They rose together, and _God_ , he was gorgeous as he came undone for her. He kissed her deeply, swallowing her remaining moans. Oh, he loved her in a way no man on earth had ever loved before.

* * *

She was giggling, wrapped up in his arms. “Sherlock,” she whispered.

“Hm?”

“We ran away and eloped like love-struck teenagers.” She laughed in disbelief. “We actually did that.” They had even gone off to purchase a last-minute wedding dress all because she had insisted on it.

A short laugh of amusement escaped him. “Yes, darling, we did.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder, lingering just a moment or so. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, snuggling closer against him, “never.”

“We should go somewhere,” he told her. “We should have a proper sex holiday.”

Molly laughed. “It’s called a honeymoon.”

“I’ve heard it both ways,” he smirked.

His wife shook her head, her eyes full of adoration. “You are a ridiculous man, Sherlock Holmes.”

“You love that about me,” he stated proudly.

“God, help me, I do.”

They soon drifted off to sleep, pressed together as closely as humanly possible. But for now, their hearts beat calmly in tandem as they dreamt. Sherlock had made his feelings known, surprising the hell out of Molly, but in the most pleasant way. Deep down, she had known they had something special and that it wasn’t just all in her head as nearly everyone had tried to convince her. As for Sherlock, he never knew he could feel so damn much. He only knew one thing for certain: no man had ever loved anyone as much he loved Molly.


	2. Baby, Let's Go Get Lost

The bloody buzzing wouldn’t stop. Sherlock cracked open his eyes and reached for his mobile. He groaned seeing that he had missed seven calls from his overbearing brother. Setting the device back down, Sherlock turned his head to the left finding Molly still fast asleep, her head resting on his chest just over where his heart was now beating rapidly. Caught off guard, his mouth slightly agape, Sherlock gingerly tucked her hair behind her ear, needing to touch her to be sure this was real.

Memories from the night before came flooding through his head, reminding him how it felt to have her body mold to his perfectly and the way they moved so well together, anticipating what the other needed. It had started out a bit clumsy, but when they really got into it, it was as if they were gliding across a ballroom floor. He could feel his body reacting to the replay repeating in his mind, and Sherlock shook his head in an effort to keep himself in check. Oh, but how could he when his— _oh, she’s my wife now_ —wife’s beautiful curves were teasing him, peeking out from beneath the comforter?

He swallowed hard. They were married now. What if she regretted it? Would she resent him? If Molly wanted an out, he would, of course, grant her wish for an annulment, but it would effectively break his heart. Being gone for two years, legally dead, had taught him many things, but the most important was that Sherlock realised that life was too short, too precious, to go it alone. He had missed Molly so much, his heart ached to the point of unbearable pain. She was the only woman—hell, the only person—that he wanted to truly share his life with. All of that time spent yearning for her, and here he was, holding her in his arms, afraid to let go. 

Too lost in his thoughts, Sherlock didn’t realise Molly had awoken moments ago until her lips were pressed to the hollow of his throat. He closed his eyes momentarily, allowing his emotions to wash over him. She was the only one he allowed himself to be open with, and he found he wanted to give her every piece of him. His eyes were only half-lidded when she moved up just enough to capture his lips with her own, followed by a series of slow, lazy kisses. _Oh, God, I love you._

“Mmm, love you too,” she murmured in response. Sherlock realised he must have spoken aloud. It was unfortunate when she broke their kiss, but the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him made up for it. This didn’t look like the face of a woman who regretted marrying him whilst they were slightly intoxicated. Despite it all, he still worried.

“Are you…okay?” he asked with hesitance.

Molly smiled, biting her lip. “’Course I am,” she replied with confidence. “Are you? ‘Cause I just—I know you’ve always said you’re married to your work, and, well, now you’re married to me, and God, you probably regret it. I should just—“ All of her doubts disappeared when Sherlock turned the both of them over just enough for him to linger above her, slowly lowering his body to hers as he kissed her again and again, his tongue slipping between her lips, eager to please. She wrapped her legs around his waist, desperate for him, but of course, that’s when Greg’s voice boomed through the megaphone.

_“Sherlock, your brother requests your presence in his office in fifteen minutes!”_

With a resigned sigh, Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration. “I am sorry for my brother’s impertinence, but I do intend to make it up to you later, Mrs. Holmes.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she quipped playfully.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes slammed the thick file in his hands onto the desk when Sherlock entered the room. “Little brother, do you have any idea how irresponsible it is to pull this little stunt?”

“Oh, I assure you, it’s not a ‘stunt,’” Sherlock retorted.

“What were you thinking!? Getting married of all things,” Mycroft remarked. “While Miss Hooper is no doubt an excellent candidate for you to waste your life with, I must insist you annul the marriage at once.”

Sherlock shot him a dark look. “My life is not a political race for you to interfere with, Mycroft. I have spent the last two years missing her so much I could hardly take it. I won’t be annulling our marriage or divorcing her unless she requests to do so.”

“You were half-drunk!” Mycroft argued, raising his voice. He was seeing red when Sherlock walked right out the door. “Sherlock, we aren’t finished! You’re married to your work! You’ll soon be a neglectful husband to Miss Hooper and she deserves better than that!”

As Sherlock stalked off, Mycroft’s words continued to buzz in his ear much to his annoyance. His brother, he decided, would eventually cool down. It got him wondering though…was Mycroft right? Two years of isolation would make anyone crazy enough to marry the first close friend they thought of. What if this ‘life is too short’ attitude faded and reverted him back to his old ways? Would he really neglect Molly? He didn’t think he could even if he tried.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Sherlock chose to focus on the fact that Molly was at 221B waiting for him, and he had some making up to do. Heading out onto the street, he saw Lestrade waiting for him to give him a lift back to Baker Street. The ride was surprisingly silent, but of course, when they arrived, Mrs. Hudson had offered Greg a cup of tea. Sherlock attempted to escape his landlady’s prodding questions, but he conceded that he’d have to wait it out.

Molly, upon hearing the commotion downstairs, crept out from 221B to see if Sherlock was home.

_“Is it serious, you two?”_ she heard Greg ask.

Before Sherlock could answer, Mrs. Hudson had piped up. _“Molly is a lovely choice for a wife, but dear, you’ve always said relationships are nothing but distractions. Marriage isn’t a walk in the park, you know.”_

Having heard enough, Molly slipped back inside, desperate to make herself forget that niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She traced the spines of his books, reading every title packed on the shelves. For as often as she had been here before, Molly had never had so much time or freedom to explore every nook and cranny of 221B. She stopped a moment, coming across a most intriguing volume. “The Dynamics of Combustion,” Molly read quietly. It was the author that caught her attention: M.L. Holmes. Was it Mycroft, perhaps? Or—

“My mother’s book,” Sherlock answered as if he had read her mind. “She claims it to be silly, but it is quite genius.” He stepped closer, his arms wrapping around her from behind. “Though don’t tell her I said so—I won’t hear the end of it.”

Molly chuckled. “My lips are sealed.” And his lips were pressed to her temple, leaving Molly to wonder why she ever felt unsure of their marriage just a few moments ago.

“We should go somewhere,” he told her. His voice was low in her ear. It made her shiver. The tip of his nose traced her jawline. He was driving her wild. “Run away with me, Molly. We can go anywhere you like.” A press of his lips to her neck, and she was just about ready to come undone.

Her heart beat loudly in her ears, his proposal giving her a thrill. She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Let’s start packing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, nobody's been real supportive of Sherlock and Molly's spontaneous marriage. Their solution? Running off together for their honeymoon. Until next week, dear readers!


	3. Wherever We End Up is a Mystery

John Watson stumbled into his flat, finding Mary on the sofa. Her attention turned toward him, noticing the slack-jawed look on his face. Her poor fiancé looked as if he had been given some rather shocking new.

“Darling, what is it?” Mary asked.

“It’s Sherlock,” he replied. “Remember he and Molly disappeared during the party?”

Mary nodded.

John looked terribly confused. “Well, turns out he went and eloped with her.”

Smiling, Mary jumped up, squealing with delight. “Oh, wonderful! I knew there was something between those two!”

“He’s my best friend. How could I have not seen it? I mean, I thought Irene Adler, but—“

Mary guided him to the sofa, making him sit down so he could relax. “Don’t overthink it, John. As we both learned, Molly Hooper is Sherlock’s best kept secret. After all, he did entrust her with his life and she kept her lips sealed for two years.”

John blew out a breath. “Never saw it coming.” He paused a moment. “There’s another piece of information I have gathered from Mycroft.”

She leaned in, ready to learn of this new bit of gossip. Mary loved the romance of it all. “What is it?” she asked all too eagerly.

“They’ve run off again,”—John met his fiancée’s smiling eyes—“to Paris.”

* * *

At 37 Rue de la Bûcherie, facing the Seine River, Shakespeare and Company, with its 17th century architecture, was bustling with customers. There were books covering every inch of the walls from floor to ceiling, the earthy scent of the pages enveloping Molly’s senses. She took it all in, her delicate fingers skimming the spines, stopping every now and then to take a peek through the pages. It tickled her when she came across the books of Fitzgerald, Eliot, and Hemingway, filling her with a sense of vellichor. She startled when Sherlock slipped his arms around her, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” he asked softly. Molly could practically hear the smile in his voice. She had chosen for them to set out for Paris, and Sherlock, being the closet romantic that he is, brought her here first thing. He knew that with her immense love of books, she would just love it here.

“There’s so much history—it’s living and breathing right here, never to be forgotten,” she mused in wonderment, her voice husky. “Writers and artists have stayed here amongst the books on these benches here; they double as beds. They refer to their guests as ‘tumbleweeds.’” She gave a short laugh. “I think I’ll go upstairs—are you coming or you will you be staying down here?”

Sherlock took her hand in his, and pressed a feather-light kiss on the back of it. “Something caught my eye down here, but I’ll join you in a moment.”

Molly returned his soft smile and headed upstairs. She was glad he was enjoying himself, though he had told her he had been here once before during his time dismantling Moriarty’s network. Sometimes she wondered what his thoughts had been whilst he explored the shop for the first time. The top floor, like the one below, was filled with worn and weathered books, but that wasn’t what caught her eye. There was a large mirror with an ornate frame covered in notes and letters.

She approached with curiosity, her mouth agape in amazement. Once she stood in front of it, Molly noticed a little box labeled, ‘Lonely Hearts and Missed Connections.’ Inside, it was stocked with paper and pens. She began reading the various notes, some searching for someone they had met here and others tearing at her heart, full of heartbreak. There was one in particular that caught her eye, having recognized the handwriting anywhere; it was Sherlock’s.

_I need her. I miss her. My heart aches without her. I’ll be home soon, my darling._

Tears filled the brim of her eyes, threatening to spill over—a single drop slid down her cheek. Molly checked her surroundings. The only people upstairs was a sweet elderly couple, their attention on the books and each other. Quickly and quietly, Molly snagged Sherlock’s note. No one was supposed to take them, but for some reason, she felt that her husband wanted her to find it, to keep it with her always. He had been so keen on bringing her here first thing.

A particular shelf called her name then, and Molly went off to browse now that she knew she hadn’t been caught.

“Find anything?” Sherlock startled her once more. He chuckled at her jumpy reaction. “You act as if you’ve committed a crime.”

She laughed nervously. “I just get so caught up in my own head, I’m not aware of anyone around me. But, no, I haven’t found anything in particular, yet.”

“Ah, well, I took the liberty of purchasing this for you.” Sherlock handed her a small bag. “Look inside,” he encouraged her.

Molly pulled out a softly worn book, a gasp of surprise escaping her as she noticed what it was. It was a collection of poems and letters written by John Keats for his love, Fanny Brawne. She had always loved his poems and had idealized their love for as long as she could remember, despite the tragic end they met. “I can bear to die—“

“I cannot bear to leave her,” Sherlock finished, his voice low and thick with emotion.

And suddenly, Molly knew how he had felt those two years ago. It had been an easy enough plan, faking his death, but somewhere along the way, Sherlock had realised how difficult it would be to leave her behind. “This is perfect,” she told him, “thank you.”

“How about we grab some dinner?” Sherlock suggested, his hand on the small of her back as they made their way out of the shop. Molly nodded. Dinner sounded wonderful right about now.

* * *

After having their fill of French cuisine, Sherlock and Molly returned to their room at the Hotel Plaza Athenee. Their room led out to a cosy balcony where they had a lovely view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. There was a small table with two chairs where they now sat, enjoying the cool night air, Paris all aglow below them. Sitting in comfortable silence, sipping on champagne provided by room service, Sherlock reached out, laying his hand atop hers, his thumb resting on the band of Molly’s wedding ring. She smiled sweetly, her eyes meeting his.

“I’m glad we did this,” she softly spoke. “It’s nice to be away from our usual lives for a bit.”

There was a time Sherlock wouldn’t have cared to leave London, but here with his new bride, it felt right. Everyone seemed to doubt that he would be a good husband to Molly, and he intended to prove everyone wrong. She was so much more than someone to just waste the time with as Mycroft had so rudely worded it. He did worry, though. What if this newfound attitude was only temporary? What if he eventually went back to his old ways? Sherlock didn’t want to be that person anymore. He wanted to be the man that Molly had always seen—for her and for himself.

“I agree,” he replied. “We deserve this time together.” Sherlock took a sip of his champagne. “And I know exactly where we should go tomorrow.”

Molly perked up. “Do tell, my husband,” she flirted. Hearing her call him her husband sent a burst of warmth through him, felt especially in his heart. That alone told him he shouldn’t worry about reverting to his old attitude towards romantic entanglements.

Sherlock squeezed her hand, tugging it gently to coax her toward him. Molly set down her glass and allowed him to pull her onto his lap. “I thought, perhaps, we could visit the catacombs in the morning.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears, leaving his hand to cradle her face.

Molly gently brushed back his curls. “Sounds like a perfect morning,”—she leaned in closely, her lips just a breadth away from his—“but what shall we do about tonight?”

His lips were on hers in a fit of instant passion. Sherlock moved accordingly to caress her petite form, lifting her up in his arms as he stood, and carried her into their room, her euphonious laughter echoing behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the fluff? I hope so! Next chapter will just kinda snapshot different adventure and moments they have during their week in Paris, and then they'll be returning to London. It's been a while since I've written pure fluff, but of course, it's not me if I don't incorporate angst eventually. Stay tuned...


	4. We Could Turn the World to Gold

Housing the remains of six million people, the Catacombs of Paris were a sight to behold. Molly marveled at the macabre beauty of it all. Sherlock’s fingers brushed against hers lightly as they made their way through the network of tunnels. The meticulous arrangement of the bones and skulls were a work of art.

“Feeling at home?” Sherlock asked quietly, his hand now enveloping hers.

Molly leaned into him, content as could be. “Very much so—it’s just you, me, and the remains of millions of Parisians. It’s oh so romantic.”

The casual way she spoke had his lips turning up into an amused smile. “Do you ever think if people heard our conversations they’d lock us up?”

Molly laughed softly. “Probably.”

They continued to wind their way through the tunnels, stopping every now and then to admire the walls of remains. The exit was only mere steps away now, and the two of them breathed in the fresh air once they were out from beneath the busy city. Sherlock’s mobile buzzed, and he took it out from his coat pocket to see who was bothering him now. He groaned in annoyance.

“Your brother?” Molly guessed. “I just figured because you look put off.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Nope, I just happen to be an expert on Sherlock Holmes,” she teased, her tongue poking out playfully.

Sherlock slipped his phone back in his pocket. “You know me better than I know myself, and quite frankly that scares me.”

Molly was slightly taken aback. “You? Scared?”

“Is that so surprising?” he asked. There was a faraway look in his eyes, his mind elsewhere.

She knew there was something gnawing at him, but Molly never pressed him. There was nothing she could say. Normally, she’d ask what was bothering him, but in that moment, she knew what he needed. Molly threw her arms around him, and he lowered his head so that their foreheads and noses touched. “I’m here—you’re gonna be okay. We’ll be okay.”

These reassuring words lifted the weight from his shoulders. Sherlock knew he should tell her his fears, but all he wanted was this quiet moment with her. The rest of the world was blocked out, only the sound of their hearts beating in tandem and their mingling breaths remained. The intake of his breath was quiet as he felt her lips touch his, gentle and warm. _Home_. His Molly grounded him, taking his worries away without even knowing what they were in the first place. Her touch slowed the chaos of his mind, calming him.

Sherlock held tightened his hold on her, his lips pressing more firmly to hers. Molly Hooper was his everything, and always would be; best friend, wife, lover. _Yes_ , he thought. _I rather like that_. It was soft, but he heard it clearly—Molly telling him she loved him, calling him her love, her husband. The last of his walls were torn down, crashing like the sea. There was no going back. He was hers forevermore. And she was his. Always.

* * *

Four days had gone by since receiving word that Sherlock and Molly ran off to Paris. After hearing about everyone’s initial reactions, Mary thought, _good for them_.

“Do you think they’re ever coming back?” John joked that evening whilst she prepared dinner.

“Oh, they will,” Mary told him, “but I hope they stay as long as they can. There’s too many naysayers in their midst right now. They need time for themselves.”

“But do you really think Sherlock is cut out for marriage? I mean, well, it’s Sherlock,” John pointed out. “I want him to be happy, whatever that entails, but—“

Mary sighed. “John, not you too.” She gave him a stern look. “He is your friend, and you should support him on this. I knew from the very first moment I saw the two of them in the same room together that there was something special between them. How could you not have seen that in all the years you knew them?”

Sherlock’s words rang in John’s head. “I guess I see but I don’t observe—at least that’s what he would tell me all the bloody time. Perhaps he’s right.” He pondered some more. “I guess Irene Adler was—“

“Nothing but a lustful moment in the past,” Mary finished. “Maybe they did it, maybe they didn’t, but it doesn’t matter about her. What matters is that he and Molly are in love, and they deserve to be supported; If not by anyone else, than at least us.”

John considered this. “You’re right. Absolutely. We’ll have them over for dinner when they return.”

Mary gave him an approving smile. “That’s the ticket.”

* * *

Hands on each other, lips on skin, soft moans. Whilst in his lap, Molly playfully tugged at the hem of Sherlock’s shirt as she pressed kisses to his neck. His hands met around her waist, resting at the small of her back. A sharp intake of breath escaped his mouth when her fingers traveled beneath the fabric, gently trailing down his sides. Lifting her head to meet his eyes, a silent conversation played out. Sherlock pulled an arm away to caress her face with his hand and met her for a warm, fervent kiss. He nuzzled his nose against hers, eliciting a small giggle from her lips.

Regretfully, Molly broke the kiss, her fingers now toying with his curls. “Feeling better?”

Sherlock gave her a smile that made him look ten years younger. “Much.” And he was. There was no need to unnecessarily worry Molly over his insecurities. He had been fine until his brother gave his two cents. She never pushed him to tell her what was the matter, and he was entirely grateful for it. Just her understanding when he needed to be pulled out of his head every now and then was enough. Molly always seemed to know exactly what to do in these situations.

She pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “Should we order room service?”

“Order whatever you’d like,” he replied. Sherlock typically went along with whatever she chose. His mobile rang then. He sighed in annoyance when his brother’s name displayed on the screen. Molly crawled off the bed to order some food whilst he begrudgingly picked up his phone. “What is it, Mycroft?”

_“The two of you better be on the next flight out to London, brother mine.”_

“What for? It’s not a crime for us to go on holiday,” Sherlock argued. He lowered his tone. “I’m surprising Molly with an evening at the Palais Garnier tonight, so no, we will not be returning until next week.” Molly had always wanted to go to the infamous opera house that birthed the _Phantom of the Opera._

_“Our parents will be here tomorrow afternoon, Sherlock. They know you’re married and mummy is rightfully disappointed you didn’t have a proper wedding.”_

Sherlock groaned in disbelief. “You called them!? Why are you so desperate to get me back to London?”

_“Because I think what you’ve done is a huge mistake, and the only reason you’ve run off is so you don’t have to face facts.”_

“And what facts are those?”

_“When the honeymoon is over, everything will be the way it once was, and before you know it, you and Molly will be over. It’s best to end it now before anyone gets hurt.”_

Sherlock hung up and threw his phone aside.

“What’s wrong?” Molly’s tone was frantic, but he said nothing. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”

“You know I’d never hurt you right?” he asked, his voice much softer than it had been a moment ago.

Molly sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers. “I know you wouldn’t do it intentionally.” He furrowed his brows. “What I mean is, couples have rows and they hurt each other sometimes. Truthfully, we’ll probably end up hurting each other every now and then, but it doesn’t mean the love isn’t there.”

She was right. Sherlock knew she was. “Mycroft called our parents—we have to leave for London as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll eat, and we’ll pack what we don’t need tonight, and we’ll buy tickets for the first early morning flight.”

“I was going to take you to the opera this evening. I—“

“It’s okay,” she told him. “Thank you. I’m sure it would’ve been wonderful.” A small smile was given to her, and the wheels began turning. “Slightly adjusted schedule: after we eat, I want to take you somewhere.”

Curiosity got the best of him. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

“Welcome to Point Zero, the epicentre of Paris,” Molly smiled. She gestured to the plate sunken into the ground. This legendary spot, located right next to Notre Dame, marked the point of distance to everywhere in France. “This is where everything begins.”

Sherlock smiled. “Poetic.” He let Molly take his hand and pull him into the circle with her.

“Okay, so the deal is, we each make a wish—silently—and then we kiss,” she told him brightly. The look on his face told her he was trying hard not to go all Spock on her. She could practically hear him: “ _This is fanciful nonsense, even for you, Molly. Wishes don’t come true._ ”

Instead, Sherlock held both of her hands in his, and pressed a kiss to the back of each one. “Okay, I’ve got my wish.”

This surprised her. “As do I,” she smiled. His hands slipped from hers and wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close. He kissed her so desperately, yet so lovingly, that his body curved into hers. The feel of his warm, all-encompassing lips warmed Molly down to her toes. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, and slipped in to meet her own, deepening the kiss. She threw her arms around his neck to pull him closer, steadying herself in the process. This was home, being wrapped up in one another. They both felt reluctant to head back to London, afraid that all they had would just fade away. Sherlock didn’t believe in magic…but why did Molly taste like it when he kissed her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes parents have been called in by a wary Mycroft, therefore rudely cutting off Sherlock and Molly's honeymoon short. Anyone else surprised that Sherlock went along with making a wish at Point Zero? (you'll learn their wishes later :p)


	5. Now I'm Broken and I'm Fading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is an angst fest, but if y'all are familiar with my work, then you know I always have happy endings...doesn't mean it won't hurt though.

It was strange, being back in London. It felt like everything that happened in the past week had been all a dream during a long slumber. Molly’s eyes flickered toward her husband who was sitting beside her in the back of the cab. His body was rigid, tense, and he appeared to be zoned out for the time being, most likely in his mind palace. She knew he had fears—probably the same fears she had. Molly scooted closer, looping her arm through his, holding his hand, and leaning her head against his shoulder. She knew he didn’t like to be disturbed whilst thinking, but he let her know it was alright with a squeeze of his hand as if he knew what she was thinking. He probably did.

Meeting the Holmes parents was a bit daunting to her, though she had spoken with them once on the phone. They had insisted that Mycroft allow them to thank her for all she did for the younger Holmes. They sounded lovely, but it didn’t stop her from feeling nervous.

“They’ll love you.” Sherlock’s smooth baritone sent shivers down her spine. _Is it possible to be attracted to the sound of someone’s voice?_ She wondered.

“Reading my mind again, I see,” she smiled in amusement. “You sound sure of that sentiment.”

He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Completely; you’re like the daughter they never had. Though, I must warn you about my mum. She will be asking about the possibility of grandkids—she’s given up on Mycroft, so all the pressure will be put on us in that regard. Just do your best to please her without saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ outright.”

Molly raised her brows. “Right…so, no pressure then?” she joked.

Sherlock turned just enough to speak low in her ear. “We’ll be alright.” At least, he hoped so.

* * *

Millicent Holmes could not have given Molly a more adoring smile. They were all gathered in 221B and Molly wished Mycroft could have at least given her a chance to freshen up a bit before meeting the Holmes parents. It didn’t seem to deter their mum in the slightest as she gathered Molly into an air-constricting hug.

“Mikey told us you had gone and eloped—which I am disappointed that I didn’t get to plan a wedding—but I just couldn’t believe it,” Mrs. Holmes spoke excitedly. “Molly, dear, how are you? I am thrilled we finally get to meet face to face after all that you’ve done for my boy.”

Doing her best to keep a calm composure, Molly took a deep breath, and smiled as sincerely as she could. “I’m doing splendidly, Mrs. Holmes. And it’s so nice to meet the both of you.” Molly stuck her hand out toward the Holmes’ father.

Mr. Holmes smiled kindly, and Molly knew exactly where Sherlock got his smile from. It put her at ease. He approached her, taking her hand and patting it gently. “My dear, you mustn’t feel the need to be so formal with us. You are family now.”

She didn’t know why, but tears were pricking at the rims of her eyes. Molly had been without her own family for so long. Both her parents had been only children, just like her, and both were gone. Her father had died whilst she was in uni and her mum followed not too long after. Nobody knew why her mum had passed, but they had chalked it up to dying from a broken heart. She looked over at Sherlock, realising that if he was taken from her, she’d probably end up following in her mother’s footsteps.

“Well,” Sherlock began, “this has all been very annoying, though I don’t blame you,”—he glanced toward his parents—“but Mycroft thought it okay to interrupt our se—honeymoon. So, if we can’t have it in Paris, then we will have what’s left of it here.”

Mrs. Holmes’ eyes flashed with anger at Mycroft. “You said they had been working a case together…you interrupted their honeymoon? Mikey, we taught you better than that.”

“Mummy, don’t you think it’s all a bit odd? Since when have either of us had any desire for romantic entanglements, let alone marriage?” Mycroft had expected their parents to question Sherlock; to ask him if this was like the way he used Janine.

“Perhaps Sherlock has just grown more mature than you,” Mrs. Holmes argued. “Only a child would pull the kind of stunt you pulled.”

And the arguing continued, making Molly feel most uncomfortable, especially when Sherlock joined in. She gasped when someone took hold of her arm. It was Mr. Holmes, his kind eyes gesturing if she’d like to step outside. Nodding her head, they left the quarreling to the hot-tempered members of the family.

After a few minutes of walking in comfortable silence, Molly asked the question that’s been plaguing her mind. “Why is Mycroft so adamant that Sherlock’s love for me is insincere?”

“I couldn’t tell you, my dear,” Mr. Holmes replied. “I am sorry the honeymoon was cut short.”

Molly smiled. “S’alright, it’s not your fault. Mycroft doesn’t know Sherlock very well, does he?”

Mr. Holmes chuckled. “He thinks he does, but my wife and I suspect that Sherlock mostly takes after me in regards to relationships. Between the two of them, Sherlock has always been the more emotional one.”

“Sometimes I think he feels too much,” Molly told him. “So he feels the need to lock his heart away to keep from getting hurt.”

He squeezed her shoulder in a fatherly manner. “And that,” he said, “is how I know you are good for my son. You can see through the façade he puts on for the rest of the world—you see him for who he really is.”

They walked on making small talk about anything and everything. About twenty minutes had passed when they decided to go back to 221B, both hoping the arguing had stopped. As they approached the building, they took notice of Sherlock sitting on the front stoop, his head buried in his hands. When he heard them approach, his head snapped up, his arm automatically reaching out for Molly.

“Is your mother still inside?” Mr. Holmes asked him. Sherlock nodded yes, and scooted over to let his dad through. Molly then took a seat beside him.

“Where’s Mycroft?” she asked.

“He left,” Sherlock replied. He sighed in frustration. “My parents will be leaving in the morning, but mummy insisted we spend a weekend with them sometime.”

Molly wrapped an arm around his back, bringing them closer together. She leaned toward him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t fret, my love,” she spoke softly. “We’ll get through this.”

Normally, her reassurances calmed him, but Sherlock remained tense, his eyes only focused on the pavement of the sidewalk. She wondered if she should give him some time alone, but instead dropped her head down to rest against his shoulder, now with both arms wrapped around his torso. He leaned into her, slightly, and it was enough to tell her she had made the right choice.

* * *

Later that night, wrapped up in the silk of Sherlock’s royal blue dressing gown, Molly quietly slipped out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to make a warm cup of tea. Sherlock was fast asleep, exhausted from the trying day they had. She wished she could sleep, but the worry she harboured for her husband kept her from getting any rest. What bothered her wasn’t even that Mycroft was being a prat, but the fact that it was clearly bothering Sherlock, a man who never cared for anyone’s opinions. And then she wondered if it bothered him because he secretly agreed with all the rubbish his brother has been throwing at him.

“Oh, Sherlock, no,” she whispered to herself as she added a teaspoon of chamomile to the tea infuser. Pouring the boiled water in her cup, Molly’s mind drifted to other things like whether she would live here with him or if he would live with her, only using 221B as an office. They never discussed it, but they would have to soon. She couldn’t very well continue to switch out clothes between his place and hers. Her flat was open and airy, but she very much loved the cosiness of Baker Street. It was more cramped, and possibly too dangerous to live there.

Just as she finished allowing her tea to steep, she heard her mobile vibrate on the desk in the sitting room. Molly took her cup of tea along with her, seeing it was Mary that was calling. “Hello?” she spoke quietly.

_“Molly, I heard you and Sherlock eloped and had your honeymoon cut short…what happened?” she asked._

“So many things, Mary. Mycroft’s just being a prat at Sherlock’s expense. I swear, if he shows his face one more time just to be an arse, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold my tongue,” Molly told her. She took a tentative sip of her tea.

_“I am behind you and Sherlock one-hundred percent, Molly. So is John now that I’ve talked him ‘round,” she told her. “You two have us for support, just so you know.”_

Molly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, truly. It seems like everyone’s against us right now. Well, not Sherlock’s parents—they’re quite pleased with the situation.”

_“So Mycroft pulled the parent card—no wonder you two came rushing back.”_

“It was absolutely unfair of him, Mary. Sherlock and I need time to just be us, and to get used to this new chapter in our lives, and his bloody pompous brother won’t give us any breathing room.” Molly felt she was going to blow a gasket. “It’s almost as if he wants our marriage to fail. He—“

_“Molly?”_

No reply.

_“Molly, is everything alright?”_

“He’s jealous,” Molly realised. She laughed in disbelief. “Mycroft Holmes is jealous. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.”

_“Well then, the Ice Man has a heart hidden somewhere after all,” Mary laughed._

“Let’s not get too crazy, now,” Molly joked. “Thanks for calling, Mary, really. It’s just what I needed to sort this whole thing out.”

_“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied. “You sound dead to the world, luv, you should try to get some sleep.”_

“I’ll just finish my tea and head right off to bed. Night, Mary.” Molly hung up and set her phone back on the desk. After finishing her tea, she snuck back inside the bedroom, shedding off the dressing gown, and slipped into bed.

Even as the mattress dipped, Sherlock never woke, but as if there were a magnetic pull between them, he found her with his arms and pulled her closer. Molly felt at ease with his body curled around hers. His hand found its way beneath her camisole, resting against her stomach as he swiped his thumb back and forth against her skin. Finally, she drifted to sleep, her worried melting away for the night.

* * *

It was the last day off Molly had before she had to return to work the next day. Spending that first week in Paris had been lovely, but this last week had been a mixture of stress and annoyance. No, they hadn’t heard from Mycroft since he stormed out a few days ago, which was nice, but Sherlock was clearly bothered by it. Whenever Molly tried to get him to talk about it, he shrugged her off or changed the subject. She was beside herself, not knowing what more she could do for him if he wasn’t ready to talk yet.

Molly had been lounging on the sofa whilst reading her book, glasses perched on her nose. Sherlock had been called away on a case, and though it was only a four, she thought it’d be good for him to get out and solve something. She’d been tiptoeing around him lately to ensure that she wouldn’t come off as pushy when it came to the Mycroft issue.

“What a load of rubbish!” Sherlock’s voice startled her as he walked in, slamming the door shut.

Molly set her book aside. “Bad case?” She watched as he tossed his coat and scarf on the desk. He began pacing back and forth whilst scanning the room, the crease between his brows deepening. “Sherlock?”

“Why haven’t you moved in yet?” he asked sharply.

She stood, calmly replying, “I’ve been waiting for the right time to discuss options with you.”

He looked as if she had insulted him. “Options? What options? I thought the next step here was fairly obvious.”

“Oh, so you just get to make all the decisions without consulting me!?” Molly asked in disbelief. “I wanted to discuss this civilly, you know, like adults?”

Sherlock was fuming. “Was it not clear to you that having this flat is important for my work!?”

“Yes, Sherlock, for your work! Not for two people who may or may not start a family in the future!” Molly crossed her arms, turning her head, refusing to look at him.

“We are living here, and that’s final!” he shouted.

Molly scoffed. “You’re such a child!” She began picking up whatever things she had lying around the flat.

“Yes, Molly, real mature, running away from your problems,” Sherlock retorted, rolling his eyes.

“No!” she shouted. “You don’t get to accuse me of that! I am going to _my_ flat so we can cool off. I wanted to compromise with you, but you won’t even hear me out.” Her face was red, hair matted to her forehead. “I don’t even know why you wanted this anymore, Sherlock. You’re obviously not ready to put in the work for a real marriage.”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t have married at all.” His cold voice chilled her to the bone. He had never spoken that way to her, not once in all the years they’d known each other.

Molly wanted to cry—full-on sobbing whilst eating a tub of ice cream type cry. Instead, she stared at him incredulously, disappointment in her eyes. “Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t have.”

It didn’t take her long. The last thing Sherlock saw was his wife, bags packed, walking out the door. The shock didn’t wear off for a while, and when it did, he picked up the teacup she had been drinking from and threw it, watching as it shattered against the door. He collapsed on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, now wet from the tears he couldn’t keep from falling. Now that his worst fear appeared to unfold around him, Sherlock hadn’t a clue where to go from here. Was this the beginning of the end? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch! I did warn y'all it was an angst fest...


	6. I Don't Wanna Fight No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one paragraph in this chapter that is a super glossed over 'they made love' thing. I'm just leaving a warning here in case the word 'breast' isn't your cup of tea lol

There weren’t any fresh bodies in the morgue today. Molly resigned herself to the fact it would be a long, tedious day. There was a good sized stack of paperwork that needed to be done, and so she worked for hours at her desk, only stopping to use the loo or eat. She was exhausted due to having trouble sleeping the night before, the fight she had with Sherlock continuously playing on a loop in her head until finally she had succumbed to the tears she fought.

Things brightened up a bit when Greg and Sally came in, a body following not too far behind them. “Edith Shepherd, twenty-eight,” he told Molly. “Found dead in her home around ten this morning.”

Molly took a look at the body, now lying on the slab. “Cause of death appears to be asphyxiation, but she has many other injuries that will need to be looked at first. Any idea who could have done this?”

“I think it’s the husband,” Sally chimed in. She almost looked smug about that particular comment, and Molly wondered if it was a jab at Sherlock and their marriage. Who was she kidding? Of course it was.

“Well, maybe the husband’s innocent,” Molly shot back. “That’s the most obvious choice, well done.”

Greg looked uncomfortable, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Donovan, why don’t you wait outside?” She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked anyways. When she was out of sight, Greg placed a comforting hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Molls? Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, shrugging him off. “Sorry, I just—I’d like to get on with the autopsy.”

He backed off. “Of course, my apologies,” he spoke gently. “I just, uh—well, I want you to know that despite the initial shock, I do wish you and Sherlock all the happiness in the world. And I’m no consulting detective, but I can see that you’re going through a rough patch. Just hang in there, okay?”

Molly offered a sad smile. “Thanks, Greg. That really means a lot.” When he left, she picked up the scalpel and positioned it just where she needed it to be. Whatever clues this body could provide her would help in the long run. As she cut into the woman’s flesh, Molly spoke in hushed tones, “Please, just this once, don’t be the husband.”

* * *

“Hu-hoo!” Mrs. Hudson alerted Sherlock of her presence. He was curled up in his chair, his eyes unfocused. She set a cup of tea down on the small table before taking a seat in John’s spot with her own cup. The woman who was like a second mom to him said nothing, just sipped on her tea.

Sherlock sighed. “What is it Mrs. Hudson? Couldn’t help but overhear mine and Molly’s fight yesterday?”

“I’m sure it could have been heard all down Baker Street, dear,” she told him.

He harrumphed. “It’s not as if you were entirely supportive of my marriage.”

Mrs. Hudson straightened up in disbelief. “I never once said I didn’t support it. I was trying to give you advice. I adore Molly—I think she’s a good match for you. I was worried you weren’t prepared to put in the effort, dear. Marriage isn’t a choice to be made lightly.”

“I know it appears as if I just jumped into it without thinking,” he told her, “but the two years I was away, all I could think about was her—that when it was all over, I’d come home to her. Where we live doesn’t even bloody matter to me.”

The elderly woman gave him a knowing smile. “I thought not. But all the same, you will have to learn to compromise on things you truly don’t agree on.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I said something most unforgivable yesterday. I doubt there’s any chance of forgiveness. Mycroft had me so convinced I’d mess this up, and lo and behold, here I am.”

“Don’t you listen to him,” Mrs. Hudson advised. “He doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does. Your brother may have taught you all that rubbish about relationships and friendships being a waste of time, but he’s wrong.” A beep from her flat downstairs sounded loudly. “Biscuits are done.” She stood to leave, but not without one last bit of advice. “Sherlock…talk to Molly.”

He wanted to go to her last night, but thought it best to give her space. Sherlock hadn’t even slept in their bed, instead having fallen asleep on the sofa where her scent still lingered. He took a deep breath and finally got up off his chair. He grabbed the cup of tea, sipping at it slowly. Hesitantly, he made his way to the bedroom, his mouth falling slightly open at the discovery he made.

Molly had left behind the book he gifted her in Paris. He reached out, picking it up, when several items slipped out onto the floor. Sherlock set the cup aside and knelt down to investigate. There were several photos from their time in Paris, but two in particular caught his eye. One was a photo they had someone take whilst they got married. It was of the kiss that sealed their nuptials. The other was one they took their first night in Paris, after having just made love—twice. They were in bed, Molly gazing at him adoringly, a huge smile on his own face.

He picked up the second photo to admire it closely, his fingers brushing something taped to the back of it. Turning it over, he discovered a small bit of paper with his handwriting. _So she did find it_. It was the short message he wrote for her whilst he was dismantling Moriarty’s network that he had posted to the Lonely Hearts and Missed Connections wall in the bookshop.

_I need her. I miss her. My heart aches without her. I’ll be home soon, my darling._

Sherlock checked the time. It was nearly six o’clock. In two hours, she would be off work. In two hours, he was going to see his wife.

* * *

“Mister Holmes.” The sharp tone of voice told him she wasn’t happy with him. Anthea raised an eyebrow, questioning him without a word. “I hardly ever find it necessary to question your motives, but I’m questioning them now.”

He blanched only for a moment, resuming to his cool exterior. “Do go on, then.”

“Exactly why are you badgering your brother? His marriage isn’t your business, and I mean this with all due respect, sir, but you need to stop being a child.” Anthea crossed her arms. “Love is nothing to discourage him from.”

“He is incapable—he’ll only hurt her,” Mycroft replied. “I believe he thinks he’s in love, but it is a falsity. He wants it to be true so much, he is not only lying to her, but to himself.”

Anthea shook her head in disbelief. “Why does it bother you so much? Why are you trying to hurt him?”

Mycroft sighed. “I’m not trying to hurt him. I realise it seems that way, but trust me, I’m doing him a favor.”

“How so?” she questioned.

“The sooner he realises I’m right—that he and I aren’t capable of love—the less painful it will be for the both of them when it ends,” Mycroft explained.

Furrowing her brows, mouth slightly agape, Anthea stared at him incredulously. “I don’t think you’re incapable of love.” She stepped closer, her hands steadying herself as she leaned over his desk. “I think you’re scared of it.”

Just as quickly as she approached him, she straightened up and left, leaving a speechless Mycroft Holmes behind.

* * *

Molly breathed a sigh of relief after finally being able to clock out after having to stay an extra hour to finish up yet another autopsy. It took all her strength to keep it together, having to figure out what caused a twelve year old girl to pass away during surgery on her broken leg from the car crash she had been in. It turned out she had a brain bleed. A head CT could have told them that, but whoever her doctor was had chosen to focus all their time on her leg. One misstep had cost this young girl her life. It was heartbreaking.

Upon reaching the street as she waited for a cab, Molly was immediately drenched from the pouring down rain. It was so cold, she felt the shivers deep in her bones. Needless to say she was thankful when a cab pulled up. Molly enjoyed the warmth of the vehicle, hesitant to get out once they reached her flat. She planned to make a run for the door, handing over what she owed the cabbie. Stepping out and into a decently sized puddle, Molly dug around for her keys, stepped up onto the sidewalk, and—

“Sherlock?” Her mouth hung open as she stood there, unmoving, raindrops clinging to her lashes and falling down her cheeks like tears. Sherlock was just as drenched as she was—if not more—and his curls were plastered every which way to his face. “What are you doing?? You’ll catch your death out here!”

Sherlock moved away from the door as Molly went to unlock it. “I was waiting for you to return.”

She turned to him, eyebrows scrunched together. “You have a key.”

“I was trying to respect your boundaries,” he replied. “Molly, I—“ She was pulling him inside by the hand, refusing to let go until they reached the bathroom.

“Get out of those clothes whilst I get your spares,” she instructed him. “I’ll be right back.” Molly finally took the time to breathe during her short trek to the bedroom. Sherlock was here. He had waited God knows how long in the frigid rain for her, which had her so worried, she didn’t have time to be upset with him. She stripped down, even choosing to replace her damp underthings with dry ones, forgoing a bra, and slipped on her pajamas: pink shorts with black polka dots and an old uni tee.

Before leaving, she grabbed Sherlock’s spare pajamas and boxer shorts, and took a moment to compose herself again. Molly stifled a giggle when she heard the sharp intake of breath her husband greeted her return with. She left him to dress in order to start up the kettle. Warm tea is just what they needed. It wouldn’t be too long now before Sherlock would appear, so she prepared herself for whatever he might say.

* * *

Now that he was in dry clothes, he was beginning to warm up. Sherlock took one look at himself in the mirror, his curls dampened and frizzy, and took a deep breath. No, he didn’t have any grand gestures planned, but Molly usually wasn’t one for that sort of thing. Though it would be nice to treat her with something lavish, this wasn’t the time for it. Hesitantly, he made his way toward the kitchen where the kettle was whistling.

His nerves began to get the best of him the longer he stood there, watching Molly prepare their cups. He swallowed hard, feeling as awkward and out of place the night of the Christmas party many years ago. Soft and unsure, he spoke. “Molly.” He stepped closer.

She looked up, watching as he approached her. “Yes?”

“I am sorry,” he told her, his voice raw with emotion. “What I said—it was inexcusable, as was my behaviour.” Sherlock let out a shaky breath, taking her hands in his. “Molly, darling, I didn’t mean what I said. Being married to you is everything to me. I don’t regret it and I never will. And I don’t care where we live. We could live here and my Baker Street flat would just be used for work and experiments. It would be rather unsafe for us to reside there—especially you. I don’t want anything to happen to you or to the children we may or may not have.”

Molly freed a hand out from his hold and caressed his face, smiling as he leaned into her touch. “You are going to kiss me right now, Mister Holmes, and then you’re going to tell me what’s been bothering you.” His eyes lit up, pleasantly surprised she was no longer angry with him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sherlock bent over as Molly rose up on her toes, their lips meeting, brushing softly together. The moment his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she whimpered, tugging him closer. He urged her to jump up into his arms, groaning when their bodies made contact, her legs wrapped around his waist. “Molly, I love you,” he whispered as she sprinkled his face with kisses.

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she replied breathlessly, sighing when he began to trace her mouth with the tip of his tongue. “Bedroom—right now, Sher—oh!” Molly tilted her head to the side whilst his lips and tongue worked at her neck. He drew back long enough to get them safely to the bedroom, gently setting her down on the duvet. His eyes sparkled with adoration for her. Molly slipped off her t-shirt and tugged at the hem of her husband’s. The rest of their clothes were shed quickly in a fit of impatience.

Hovering over her, Sherlock dipped his head down, pressing soft kisses to the hollow of her throat, along her clavicle, and the soft swell of each breast. He lowered himself, kissing her lips whilst his fingers gently brushed through her hair. Molly encouraged him, pressing against the small of his back with her hands. He buried his face against her neck as they finally lost themselves in each other’s arms. “I forgive you,” she whispered. 

* * *

Tracing circles on his chest with her index finger, Molly adjusted her head so she could face her husband who looked pensive. “What are you thinking about?”

“What a fool I’ve been,” he answered, stroking her hair. “I allowed my brother to get in the middle of our marriage. In doing so, everything I feared would happen did happen.”

Molly nodded in understanding. “A self-fulfilling prophecy if ever I saw one.”

“He told me it would be best to end things before we were ‘too involved,’ which I assume meant before children entered the equation,” Sherlock told her. “Essentially, he said you would be better off without me…and I was frustrated because I agreed with him. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have.” He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling her lips press to his shoulder. “I only brought up the fact of you having not moved in completely because it somehow triggered my fear that you agreed with him too.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” she sighed. “Don’t you think I’m the one who should decide who I’m better off with? Okay, so getting married was a spontaneous choice, but it only stemmed from how much I wanted to share my life with you—how much I love you.”

He flashed a crooked smile. “I realise that now. Mycroft may think you deserve better than me—hell, I still think you do—but what you deserve more is the best version of me, and I haven’t been that since we returned to London, and for that, I apologise.”

“We both have our shortcomings, and despite them, we still love each other. I have a tendency to run away when things get complicated—granted, not permanently, but I felt like I should have stayed after we fought or at least should have encouraged you to tell me what was really bothering you.” Molly slid her hand up into his curls. She laughed then. “Hell, we both ran away to escape everyone questioning our marriage.”

“Well, yes, but a sex holiday is permitted for newlyweds,” Sherlock chuckled.

Molly gave a playful roll of her eyes. “You are incorrigible.”

“Mm,” he smirked, “but you love me anyways, don’t you, Mrs. Holmes?”

“I do,” she smiled. “I really do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was a long one! I've been working so hard to get everything just how I want it, and I think I've done it! How are y'all feeling? You okay? Need tissues or a cup of tea? I think there's either going to be one or two more chapters, not sure yet. But I hope y'all are enjoying the journey! No real cases in this fic, but I figured nobody would mind.


	7. I'd Rather Run Away with You

Mycroft Holmes stood outside the door of his brother’s flat. He considered knocking, but then there’d be a chance that he’d be turned away. Instead, he let himself in with his usual haughty manner. Sherlock threw a quick glance from where he sat at his desk, but went back to ignoring his presence. Mycroft cleared his throat. “Brother mine, it has come to my attention that my repulsive behaviour as of late has hurt you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “And here I thought you were the smart one—did Anthea have to point that out to you?”

The elder Holmes opened and closed his mouth again. “Yes, as a matter of fact she did, but my visit today was of my own accord. Sherlock, I am sorry for how abhorrent I’ve been since your marriage to Doctor Hooper. There is no excuse for how I acted, but I feel I ought to explain anyways.”

He stood, dragging the client chair over as he made his way to his chair by the fireplace, and sat down, his hands steepled against his chin. “Do go on.” He gestured for his brother to take a seat.

Mycroft did just that. “The short version is I was jealous.”

Sherlock raised a questioning brow. “And the long version?”

“I wanted so badly to not be the only one known to be incapable of love. We were two of a kind, you and I. It was easier then. I believed you thought you loved Molly, but I did not believe you actually did. I felt I was doing the both of you a kindness by interfering before anyone else was hurt,” Mycroft explained. “That’s what I thought I was doing, but I have come to realise I was jealous you had found a goldfish of your own—only she isn’t truly a boring old goldfish, is she? The two of you are a perfect match, complementing one another. You had the courage to open your heart to her—something I have been unable to do for Anthea.”

Leaning back in his chair, realisation hitting him, Sherlock smiled smugly. “And she essentially called you out on it.”

Mycroft nodded. “She did. In fact, she told me she didn’t believe me incapable of love, but that she believed me to be scared of it. And she was right. Because of that, I put you and my dear sister-in-law through hell. I am sorry, brother mine. Truly.”

He stood, expecting to leave now that he had said his piece, but the moment he turned around, a very angry pathologist was yelling his name. Mycroft blanched.

“Mycroft Holmes, how dare you swan about this flat after everything you’ve done! What made you think you could just tell your brother he doesn’t deserve me!? How dare you make him feel as if nobody could love him!” Molly’s face was red from the exertion of her rant. “How. Dare. You.” She punctuated each word with a jab of her finger to his chest.

Though Sherlock had quite enjoyed seeing her fly off the handle at his brother, he knew he’d have to cut in. “Molly,” he spoke firmly, taking gentle hold of her wrist, but she still tried to advance at Mycroft. “Molly, darling, please, it’s okay.”

She huffed in frustration. “What he did was not okay, and now he’s here being a bloody arse again all because of some petty jealousy!”

“He came over to apologise,” Sherlock informed her. “He already did actually—to me, anyways.” He and his wife gave an expectant look at the elder Holmes.

Mycroft cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. “Yes, well…Molly, sister mine, I am deeply sorry for the trouble I have caused you. You’re right—I was jealous, and that does not excuse my behavior, but I hope it provides clarity. I don’t disprove of this union—in fact, I couldn’t be more proud to have you as a sister. My brother can explain the rest, if you so choose to hear it, but I unfortunately have to go. This meeting cannot be rescheduled again.” 

Molly had visibly calmed down, but her body went rigid when Mycroft approached her…and hugged her? Too surprised to return it, she stood there until he released her, noticing a scent mixture of cinnamon, amber and musk. Then a thought hit her. “Mycroft?”

“Yes?”

“Have fun on your date,” she told him. He returned a knowing smile before walking out the door.

Sherlock stared at her, his face scrunched up. “Date?”

“He’s not attending a meeting—he’s going on a date with Anthea,” Molly pointed out. “He’s wearing a light blue tie which I’m sure he knows brings out his eye color, and he’s wearing the cologne that Anthea once told me she liked.”

He raised his brows. “Impressive,” he remarked with a smirk. Sherlock pulled her close, leaning his forehead against hers. “How long do we have?”

Molly glanced at her watch. “About an hour before we have dinner with the Watsons, and—oh!” She was taken by surprise when he gathered her up in his arms, looping hers around his neck. He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.

“I think we’d do well to spend that hour wisely, my darling,” he teased before carrying her off to the bedroom, boxes still strewn about the floor, ready to be moved to her flat. Well, their flat now.

* * *

The next day, gathered in the morgue, Greg, Anderson, and Sally awaited the results of the DNA found on Edith Shepherd. Any moment now, they would know who was guilty. Donovan was still insistent on the culprit being the husband, as it usually was in these cases. All three of them perked up when Sherlock and Molly swept into the room.

“So,” Molly began, “it wasn’t the husband.”

“Ha! Knew it wasn’t!” Anderson claimed proudly. “Was it the husband’s brother who claimed to harbour feelings for Edith that perhaps turned to resentment over time?”

“Nope,” Sherlock replied. “It was the husband’s mistress…”

“Ah,” Greg and Anderson said in unison.

“…who was also Edith’s best friend,” Molly finished.

The three NSY members sucked in a breath. “Ooooh.”

“That’s a betrayal if I ever saw one,” Sally remarked.

“Case almost closed then,” Greg announced. “We’ve just gotta find Amy, then. You coming, Sherlock?”

“Yes, I’ll—“

Mycroft Holmes entered the room with a sense of importance. He approached his brother and sister-in-law, and pulled out an envelope from his inner jacket pocket. “This is for the both of you. It doesn’t give you back the time you lost in Paris due to my antics, but I do hope it makes up for it.”

Sherlock took the offered envelope and looked inside at the contents, bewilderment on his face.

“Sherlock, what—“

“Two round-trip tickets to Scotland for a, shall we say, part two of your honeymoon. I took the liberty of renting a cottage in the Highlands for the both of you,” Mycroft told them. “Your flight leaves in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock finally spoke.

“Yes,” Molly said sweetly, “thank you. It’s very thoughtful.” She slipped the envelope out of her husband’s hands. “Now, I believe you have a criminal to catch.”

Sherlock pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, and followed after Lestrade and the others. She shook her head in amusement at his excitement. Turning to Mycroft, she looped her arm through his. “Now, I am on lunch break, so I am dying to hear how your date went.”

* * *

Tucked away in a warm, cosy cottage, Molly was curled up on one end of the sofa that faced the crackling fire. Sherlock was humming one of his compositions whilst he poured his wife a nice cup of chamomile tea. Sitting down beside her, he peered over at the book she was absorbed in. Feeling his presence, Molly slipped her bookmark between the old pages and closed it.

“Thank you,” she told him as she took hold of the cup. They were both still in their dressing gowns having decided that Sunday would be their day to stay in together. Molly snuggled back against him, sipping her tea, enjoying these small moments they had begun sharing more often.

Sherlock lowered his head so that he could press his lips to that magic spot just behind her ear. “Enjoying yourself?” His hand swept her hair away so he could kiss the back of her neck.

“Immensely,” she answered, her toes curling at the feel of his lips on her skin. “It’s so peaceful.”

“You know, I’ve always had plans to retire to a cottage in the countryside whenever I feel it’s time to do so…would you be amenable to that idea when we were both ready?” His voice was soft and low in her ear, sending chills all over her body. 

Molly set her cup aside and turned herself around to face him. “I think that sounds lovely—you could raise bees. I know you’ve always wanted to.”

He smiled brightly, a small laugh escaping him. “Indeed I have.” His demeanor seemed to shift from content to nervous in a split second, not escaping Molly’s notice. “I was thinking, though—not yet, obviously, but if you’d like—well, I mean I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of…offspring.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” she laughed, “are you asking if I’d like to make babies with you?”

He opened, then closed his mouth, unsure of how to respond. “Well, yes, I am. We should probably wait a bit before we do, but I would very much like to. Are you…opposed to the idea?”

“No, I”—Molly bit her lip—“I love the idea.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled just before pressing his lips to hers. It was soft at first, but it continued to grow firm with each brush of their mouths. “Thank you,” he managed to breathe out between kisses.

Molly broke away, but kept their noses nuzzled together. “For what?”

“Marrying me,” he replied, followed by a feather-light kiss. “I love you, Molly.”

She sighed happily. “Oh, Sherlock…I love you too.” Throwing her arms around his neck, Molly urged him to lie down as their lips connected once more. He held onto her, keeping her in place where her body was flush against his. They smiled against each other’s mouths whilst softly snogging on the sofa, content to be wrapped up in domestic bliss that suited them both just fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End, dear readers! We have reached the end of this journey! Thank y’all for going along with me! This has easily become one of my favorite fics I've written!
> 
> As a little bonus, here's the playlist I created for this fic:
> 
> \- Run Away with Me by Carly Rae Jepsen  
> \- Daydream by The Aces  
> \- You Are the Reason by Calum Scott and Leona Lewis  
> \- Paris Nights, New York Mornings by Corinne Bailey Rae  
> \- Circles by Jana Kramer  
> \- Let's Get Lost by Carly Rae Jepsen  
> \- Let's Get Married by Bleachers  
> \- Lover by Taylor Swift  
> \- Halfway There by Rozes  
> \- Runaway by The Corrs  
> \- What's Left of Me by Nick Lachey  
> \- Castaways by Sheppard  
> \- Goddess by Avril Lavigne  
> \- Bloom by The Paper Kites

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to update this every weekend until it's finished, so y'all will get one chapter a week. I usually write and post quicker than that, but that was before I went back to school lol! I hope y'all are loving this as much as I do! Until next weekend!


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